


Chrysanthemum Petals

by ToasterBonanza



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angelic Monster Sex, Autumn Festivals, Body Horror, Dildos, Dubious Consentacles, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Human Genitalia, Orgasm Denial, Other, Rope Bondage, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacle Sex, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:13:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27152284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToasterBonanza/pseuds/ToasterBonanza
Summary: During the Double Ninth Festival where people sweep the graves of their ancestors, the narrator receives an unusual night visitor who knows all their deep desires.
Kudos: 17





	Chrysanthemum Petals

Where do I begin? Of course I enjoyed it.

It was everything I had ever wanted out of the experience. I have needs but I do not desire people. I never have. In the moment, my focus in on my own body. I was never very good at pleasuring others--yes, when I was in my teens and twenties, I did try, but I was told I was too selfish--because I do not want connection. I want release. Then I got older and I wanted to empty myself of pain. I wanted a place. Safety. Somewhere I could confront my agony. It's easier if partners aren't people or moving or alive. I remember once being at a funeral for someone I barely knew. I wondered how much easier things would be, being able to focus on my body and my needs, when my partner was as stiff and still as the body in that casket. 

They came during the Double Ninth Festival. In the darkness of my apartment, I saw a silhouette morphing subtly the way a candle's flame flickers. I felt them speaking. {{Come to me.}} Chrysanthemum perfume followed them, comingling with the smells of roasting pig and incense sticks wafting up from the streets below my window. 

Why did I? Curiosity? A pathological attraction to danger? 

In the end, does it matter? 

Violet light in my room like the dancefloor of a club I often visited. Even the air, hot and wet, was like being in the center of that sprawling, pulsing mass of people and hormones. As my eyes adjusted, I saw the shapes of giant spider webs. A soft violet carpet under my toes. The room felt small but I couldn't see the walls. The shape, the angel, whatever it was, vibrated next to me. 

A gush of air and then before me, a black table with every sex toy I have ever thought of exploring. A feast for my eyes. {{Choose.}}

So many of them required a second person. Where should I begin? Then I saw it. Electric green. Numerous ridges. And a monstrous size. No sooner did I choose it in my head did I find its base pressed against my pubic bone. No chaffing of straps or confinement of briefs. It moved as I moved like a part of me that had been missing before. 

The angel--it must have been--coruscated, skin a warm amaranthine in the low light, my eyes not quite able to focus on the shape of their buttocks--how were they suddenly before me? The air itself moved my hands to grip their hips. When my hands were limp, they were soft like squid flesh. The moment my grip tightened, I felt bone and muscle beneath my fingers. I still could not discern the shape of the figure. {{Stop holding back.}}

Jitters ran through me as I tried to find, just, ANY hole. What was I even doing? I shyly pushed in the tip, the pressure against my pubic bone signaling the resistance of a sphincter. A few pitiful thrusts. What now? {{Stop holding back.}}

I pushed deeper, somehow fully aware of the tightness around the toy's shaft. I could even hear how ridges bumped against the opening. More pitiful thrusts. {{Stop holding back.}}

I push all the way to the base and now it feels like the toy itself is gripping me the way my hands grip the angel. I managed one good thrust. {{Stop holding back.}}

That's when I realized it. I could not hurt them. They would not let me. No matter what I did. Nothing would hurt them. And then, it came out. It was always there. I have no way to name it. I wasn't interested in thrusting. Not yet. Not when I found a wall to let me throw them against and grind my elbow against that long, beautiful, swan-like neck. Not when the silk rope appeared in my fist and tie together in front those hard biceps and shapely forarms tapering into strong wrists and slender, dainty, impossbly long fingers. Then the thrusts. I made every thrust like I intended to split them open with the sheer force of my hips. Somehow through the toy, I felt the depth. I felt the drip onto my clit. 

The tendrils came from the darkness, curling around my nipples, slipping into the indents between my ribs, rubbing the tops of my inner thigh, and I kept going. Each stroke, the tendrils pinched and only made me want more, and I felt the base of the toy grip harder, and oh God why did my clit feel so big and swollen and heavy, and why could I feel the ribbing of the toy, and oh God, how did I know that my clit was touching the angel now--

The toy was part of me, a second member to join my enormous clit. Harder, harder, even as my hip bone was bruising, even as my tongue was stretching out of my mouth like someone pulling on the tip with needle-nose pliers. Harder, even as my joints in my fingers and arms were turning to jelly, the skin now too slick for my weakened hands to grasp and I simply slid down to press against the curve of that rippling back. Even as each knuckle in my hand pushed out and further away from its siblings. The tendrils wrapped and pinched harder with each thrust, now biting into me.

I fell onto my back, holding the angel above me on my shaft which now wriggled excitedly within its new home while my clit flexed up and farther forward in search of another hole. Intertwining my jelly-joint legs with those curvy legs. I wrapped my ten soft new arms around this body which began more muscular and less bony, now bucking against me just for the sake of teasing and withholding the final release I so deeply crave. My toes flexing and curling and spreading further apart to become their own appendages. I was changing into something new as my skin was stretched to its limits. I felt the twisting of my tendons like the exquisite pain of an orgasm and a menstrual cramp at the same time, deep and strong, but it wasn't even the start. The tips of my new limbs found the tips of their limbs and Oh god, every single time it was like a tongue against my clit, oh god, there was a tongue against my enormous clit, oh God, there were so many tongues against the tips of my many limbs that were all as heavy and swollen as my clit--

I was distorted against time and space, the cosmos spread out before me, my body transformed into this creature of pure pleasure, the angel intertwining, wrapped together in a orgy of sensations. I felt the raw energy of plunging my new limbs into a new orifice and feeling another orifice of my own stuffed to writhing fullness. And yet the angel teased me, never allowing me that total release. It was a game, the angel snatching it away whenever it was in my grasp, pushing me to only penetrate deeper and harder and demand to be stuffed beyond fullness to overflowing, uncontained, and unbound--

And then it touched my soul and split me into so many pieces. So many chrysanthemum petals floating in the stillness of the stars. All the tender pieces of me drifted on their own accord, alighting on a porcelain plate.

I opened my eyes. I was in my bed. Clearly, it was a dream. Or so I thought until I saw the electric green dildo sitting in a mess between my legs.


End file.
